Flicker

He holds the Northern Lights, you know

I gave him five minutes and a kiss. He looked at me as if I had given him the world. To this day I wonder how such little of me could mean so much to someone. As red-letter as those exchanges seem in a film, reality fell short, as it invariably tends to do. There were no figurative fireworks, or literal ones for that matter. In that moment I was nothing more than the frivolous figure I see in the mirror every morning, still, he stood mountainously over me with the Aurora Borealis where his eyes should be. No cliche ever written could do him justice. I can do all but hope that he can't help but to think of hackneyed phrases when he sees me although when I look at myself I see nothing that can compare to anything worth describing by overused colloquialisms. Maybe this is because I am so acquainted with myself that I no longer care to see anything but imperfections. If he is the Northern Lights, then I am nothing more than a flicker.